


all i have to bring today (this, and my heart beside)

by phraseme



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Ensemble Cast, Epistolary, Fourth Age, Multi, Post-Canon, Vignette, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:09:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22658338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phraseme/pseuds/phraseme
Summary: Snapshots from the time after Aragorn's crowning and before the wedding of Faramir and Eowyn. Featuring many reunions, a long-awaited engagement, and some Shire Post.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Arwen Undómiel, Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf, Éowyn/Faramir (Son of Denethor II)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 76
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	all i have to bring today (this, and my heart beside)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [guileheroine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/guileheroine/gifts).



> This takes place during some indeterminate period of the Fourth Age. I'm not sure where in the canon timeline it oculd be, but Frodo has already sailed for the West, and Merry and Pippin are still bachelors. Sam, while he has three children, is not yet Mayor. The title is from an Emily Dickinson poem.

_To the His Majesty Aragorn II, Elessar Telcontar, King of the Realms of Gondor and Arnor, High King and Chieftain of the Dunedain, Keeper of the White Tree Restored in Minas Tirith, called Envinyatar, Elendil's Heir, Sovereign Lord of the White Company and the Tower Guard, his loyal Knight sends his greetings._

My lord,

If I have forgotten any titles you must forgive me, although I am sure there are another half-a-dozen forms of address I have left out. If in the time between this letter and our coming to Minas Tirith you acquire another few honors, think of your Pippin before adding them to your list of titles! One day it will be longer than any letters I send you, even if I include the whole of Shire gossip and even news from Bree. 

At the moment, the gossip is more likely to revolve around the doings-of and goings-on at Annuminas, and the widening of the Road from the North-kingdom towers to the Shire. We are all very curious about it, and although few hobbits still venture out among you Big Folk, even the oldest and most prejudiced of gaffers cannot gainsay the impact the King's coin has had on our commerce. The pipeweed fields in Southfarthing have doubled in yield last year, and your faithful Knight will bring you the King's tribute himself in order to guard it against any raiders, pirates, or Brandybucks along the way. If you can unearth your pipe from wherever you keep it in your chambers (you don't keep it on your person when you're King, do you?) I shall certainly supply it with as much Old Toby as I can manage, even if I must bring a waggon!

This is all to say: yes, of course, I will heed my liege lord's call and accept his summons to return to Minas Tirith and attend the wedding of Lord Steward Faramir and the Lady Eowyn. Merry has been polishing his Rohan gear since his letter from Éomer King arrived with the same summons. Both his letter from Edoras and my letter from Faramir were very short, to the point I am guessing they suffer from some dreadful nerves, but hopefully not as terrible as when old Bilbo's father Bungo Baggins was so nervous marrying my great-aunt Belladonna Took he turned his head after meeting her eyes at the altar and was nearly married to the officiant! I am sure that Faramir will laugh hearing the story, and Merry and I bring many others to ease his nerves and make him smile, if only to ensure that he and Eomer do not wind up married to each other. 

Lastly, your Knight must bring you a bit of bad (or perhaps not good, although it is also very good) news: we are presently unable to pry Sam out of Bag End and away from Rosie's sweet attentions, what with Elanor and Frodo-lad so young and Rosie expecting again. So Merry and I will leave Crickhollow and meet your Rangers near the border of the Shire as soon as I send this off to you by Quick Post. I expect I shan't have a chance to write you again until we are in Rohan, if only because the list of titles at the top will be difficult to write while in a saddle. 

In the mean-time, your subjects in Hobbiton, Buckland, and Tuckborough send their love to you and the Lady Arwen Undomiel. 

I remain honored to serve you as a Knight of the White City, your friend and fellow Walker,

_Peregrin Took_

* * *

Aragorn folded the letter back into its neat thirds and smiled. Pippin had, as he’d expected, answered in the hobbits’ usual elaborate and meandering way. It would make Arwen laugh, just as every hobbit turn-of-phrase would make Elrond pause—the linguistic advancements of the Shirefolk had not yet attracted the scholars of Imladris. 

“Majesty?” 

Faramir’s voice, so usually courteous, shook Aragorn out of his thoughts. He would have time later to remember the sayings of hobbits (how Elvish of him! To recall by their language the behaviors and speech of his friends in memory). He would soon, in fact, have hobbits before him: hobbits to house and feed and entertain. Aragorn shook his head and tucked Pippin’s letter into its square parchment envelope. “Lord Steward,” he said gravely, and could feel Faramir’s nervous gaze upon him. Faramir, son of Denethor and brother of his brother-in-arms Boromir, who would soon be married to the White Lady of Rohan. 

It would not do to tease his nerves when Faramir was already so anxious. Gondor had just gained a king; it would only injure the kingdom he had hoped to heal if it lost a Steward. Aragorn broke into a wide smile. “The hobbits are coming!” he said to him, and could see Faramir took heart in the message. “Merry and Pippin, at least, are riding to Rohan as we speak. They will join the train that escorts your lady to Minas Tirith.”

“The hobbits are coming,” Faramir repeated, and the tension in his shoulders seemed briefly to relax. “The hobbits are coming!” And soon the cry was taken up in the White City: that the King would once again host the _perian_ soldiers, and _Ernil i Pheriannath_ would return among them.

* * *

Arwen supposed that, in the whole scheme of things, the courtship rituals of Men were rather beyond her. It was—and is—true that Aragorn had courted her during the long war against the Enemy, but he had done so in the Elvish way, following the customs he had been taught in her father’s halls. They had plighted their troth and waited until his Black Tower fell to fulfill it, for both she and Aragorn had separate duties to their own people. The War of the Ring had been yet one more tangle added to the complexity of their relationship. 

But despite the tangles and knots of the past, Arwen and Aragorn had remained Elvish in how they kept their pledges to each other. Arwen had sustained herself with memory, walking in her dreams with him, and Aragorn had done largely the same. She wrought devices and emblems of Aragorn’s house, waiting for the day he would bear it and its accompanying crown in public. And she, like her beloved, learned the differences in sable black and shadowed grey. Arwen clothed her spirit in them to keep close to Aragorn, even when their _hroa_ were apart.

It was thus that Arwen, despite her compassion and many talents, could not entirely fathom the reason why the Lord Steward fretted in his chambers so often. The hobbits’ impending arrival was something of a blessed distraction to him, for Faramir insisted on personally overseeing the quartering and accommodations of both Meriadoc and Peregrin. She, the daughter and frequent hostess of the Last Homely House, could not begrudge him the task of ensuring a friend’s simple pleasures—and the prodigious appetite of hobbits.

Still, she confided in Aragorn her private thoughts about Faramir’s behavior. “I cannot imagine what thoughts consume him! He has not slept or eaten well in days." 

"Lady," Aragorn replied, and took her hand in his. She thrilled at the touch, if only for its novelty—to hold him whenever she wished was still a seeming luxury—and smiled just as he had begun to smile. "Tell me your concerns, and I shall try to allay them." He raised her hand to his lips, and she did not restrain herself from laughter, for Aragorn's beard always tickled.

Arwen resolved, in time, to ask Éowyn if she thought the same about Men and their facial hair. She thought the Shield-maiden of Rohan was remarkable, facing down the Witch-King during the war and vanquishing that old foe in a deed worthy of song, or indeed many songs. "Does the shadow of war still linger over him? Is that why he cannot sleep?" Being Half-elven herself, Arwen was no stranger to the symptoms of exhaustion that she shared with Men. Her father had, on some nights, appeared just as weary. Elves could describe the Shadow in one's eyes, or the darkened eyes of an Elf born in Middle-Earth compared to the eyes of an Elf from Valinor, but they had no word to describe the dark, bruise-like parts that appeared under mortal eyes. It was not a part of world-weariness that Elves, unlike Men, exhibited. 

"No, my lady." Aragorn's voice was gentle. "I do not think the shadow troubles him so grievously as it once did." 

Arwen had learned many things while staying with her grandmother in Lothlorien, although the reading of thoughts and desires was something Galadriel had kept to herself. "He cannot think her unfaithful." Arwen could not fathom such a thing, and it troubled her to think of it. 

"No, Evenstar," Aragorn said. "I do not think that is what he fears." He ran the pad of his thumb over her knuckles, a gentle smile still on his face. Arwen knew that expression, the fond, patient look she had also seen on her father as he taught his apprentices.

"Then I do not know what disturbs him!" Arwen admitted, and Aragorn laughed again, a knowing look in his eye. "You were not half as anxious about us."

"Perhaps not. But I know the anticipation he must feel, for it is akin to mine on Midsummer's Eve. You and I have waited twoscore years for such a day, but in truth, for Men, those years cannot pass quickly enough." Aragorn looked at Arwen then, and his gentle smile was stained by some far-off memory of the Shadow. "Even to Men with the blood of Numenor."

Arwen understood then that, for Éowyn and Faramir, the short time she spent away from Minas Tirith would be equal to what Arwen and Aragorn had spent apart. "I pitied Men for their short time in Arda," Arwen said quietly, and Aragorn nodded. "But now, as I am counted among their number, I begin to understand them." It was her bargain with the Lord of Dooms to earn first her joy and then her sorrow in a trade that neither Éowyn nor Faramir would make. They would take their birthright Gift together, and thus counted their years dearly. 

But Arwen was a Queen, the daughter of queens. Her beloved was with her at last, and there would be nothing but joy in her tomorrow for many long years. "Tell me," she said, "What aid I can offer him. For your Steward is also a friend, and I would not have it said that the King Elessar does not seek to help a friend in need."

"Nor the Queen Undomiel," Aragorn added, and Arwen felt herself once again under the trees of Lothlorien, falling in love with him for the first time.

* * *

Gimli returned to Minas Tirith relieved to feel solid earth beneath his feet. "You and that horse," he grumbled, "A lesser dwarf would describe as _flighty_. Mad, unreliable." Arod, who had taken to his new life with Legolas and his Elven horsemastership with gusto, snorted at him. They led him through the busy streets of the White City, upwards and onwards toward the heart of the tallest white tower: the residence of the King. There Aragorn's banner was proudly flown from its peak, and the blossoms were once again laid heavy on the branches of the White Tree. They would remain in the city until the festivities were over, no doubt, and perhaps only then move on to other travels.

"Ah, but Master Dwarf," Legolas said, and patted Arod's neck to soothe him. "Elves appear flighty to Dwarves because all you know is stone! Anything is unreliable compared to unmoving stone, even the wind and water."

"That is precisely what I just said," Gimli informed him, and he scowled to see Legolas laugh. "Except I have described it in a much more efficient fashion."

"If wind and water, leaf and branch, are not efficient," Legolas said, amused, "I would not say that to our friend in Fangorn."

Gimli shuddered. "I was extremely courteous to him when we met, as you know." Legolas looked down at him, the mirth in his eyes a topaz glint in his eye. "And would be once more, if we had to go back there for some mad, Elvish reason."

"Well," Legolas began, and laughed again at Gimli's concession. "And I would say the same to you, Gimli, for it is your turn to decide where we would go next! For you and I have already seen the wonders of the Onodrim forest, and the curious depths below Helm's Deep. But if there is another place that you would share, I am keen to go, if only so I may tour then another wood with the most unwilling lump of walking iron in Arda."

When Gimli was a very young Dwarf, he felt and saw the tremors before a tunnel collapse. Later, he had felt the earth quiver as he and the Fellowship ran through the darkened halls of Khazad-dum, and again before the Black Gate. He had seen courage in many Men, hobbits, and even Elves, and shown the courage of his own people besides. Gimli did not know yet if the strength he had to stand up when Legolas laughed in such a way was courage, but he would take it to heart that he did not collapse, or shatter, under it.

Gimli knew great masters of glass and crystal who used the material with such intent and precision they appeared effortless. He would have owed Legolas a life-debt, if Dwarves had such things for Elves, but Legolas would have owed him the same. They had, after all, saved each other's lives too many times to count. Theirs was a bond that defied the recorded history of their peoples; Gimli was grateful to have it thus. Grateful, but not glad.

"Only because I had to share Middle-Earth," Gimli returned, and affixed his gimlet eye to Legolas' fair face, "With the most erratic and ridiculous piece of bark that ever fell off a tree!" There were jewels under the earth that Gimli's longfathers polished that did not shine so bright as this, the sight of Legolas and his laughter. If Gimli were a poet, perhaps he would inscribe such words in truesilver, or carve them into stone tablets inlaid with gems like a net of stars. But he was not a poet, and no longer a craftsman devoted to his work. Tales were told of Dwarves ensnared in love, the condition afflicting even the most obsessive Dwarf. As Thorin Oakenshield knew too well, riches could not assuage loneliness. But if Gimli could not inscribe or carve or otherwise craft the desire of his heart into art, he would craft it instead into a secret.

As the two warriors led their horse through Minas Tirith, citizens stopping to stare at the unlikely pair, Arod held his head proudly over them as if the horse was the only sensible creature present.

Perhaps among the horse from Rohan, an oblivious Elf-prince from Mirkwood, and an unfortunately lovestruck Dwarf of the House of Durin, Arod was the only one with common sense after all.

* * *

Merry and Peregrin arrived in Rohan a week before the bride's escort rode to Gondor. Since Éomer had become King he hardly had the time to entertain guests; Rohan was still recovering from the long ravages of war. But it was something of a relief to see Merry again in his small helmet, girt with a short sword and astride his pony, a token of luck on Éomer's side. 

Too many things had changed since Aragorn took the crown. Many of them were good (the trade relationship between Rohan and Gondor was a roaring, profitable one) although they still mourned the dead (Éomer too often wondered what it was his uncle would do). And one more thing would change soon enough: his sister would leave their halls in a matter of days. He would be the only one of his house to dwell in Edoras.

"What is he like?" Éomer had asked, and Éowyn had shot him a look that cut like a knife. It was a rare moment when neither king nor bride had pressing duties to attend, and Éomer had not curried his own horse in weeks. 

"You have met him yourself, brother." Éowyn polished her bridle with a soft cloth, and the dark wax discolored her fingertips. It would look out of place in Mundburg, and Éomer could guess why his sister had chosen such a task over other, more traditional, bridal preparations.

"As a representative of his father," Éomer countered. "And later as Elessar's."

Éowyn was quiet for a long time. Éomer rarely saw her so silent, for her shieldmaiden's temper and her expressive features revealed in an instant her thoughts. She laid down her bridle, the treated leather shining in the lamplight, and studied her wax-stained hands. "Is that not enough?" she said, her voice so soft Éomer strained to hear it. "If Elessar vouches for his character."

"Little sister," Éomer began, but Éowyn was smiling. "King Elessar does not have one, so perhaps he is no judge for the matter. But I am not asking as a King."

"No, you are not," Éowyn laughed. "Shall I answer then as such? He is a good man, brother mine, kind above all measures. His people love him just as they love Elessar. Perhaps moreso, for he is theirs; he was born there, and dwelt there his whole life. His family were born into the service of the city. Both you and I know what that is like." Éowyn turned her eyes to Éomer then, and went on. "We are similar, he and I. Neither of us remember well our mothers' faces. We sought death during the War, and found salvation—even compassion—despite it, and at the same hand. And from what I heard tell, he also had a brother: an elder he admired and hoped to follow into battle."

"I would hope that, in these better days, you would have no further cause to ride to war." Éomer's words were thick on his tongue. It would never cease to unnerve him, the sight of his sister's fair face turned toward the Shadow, towards Death. "And I had forgotten you were both the second child of our families."

"I said to him that he would have another brother," Éowyn said, and in that moment she seemed wise and fair, a queenly figure too great for the low-ceilinged stables, her compassion a gentle river in the hills. "Not to replace the one he lost, but to remind him that he is not so alone." 

Éomer would miss her greatly when she was gone.

* * *

_ To Deputy Mayor Samwise Gamgee of Bag End _ _  
_ _ Hobbiton, The Shire _ _  
  
_

Sam (and Rose! Congratulations, Missus Gamgee),

We have arrived in Gondor with the royal escort from Rohan, on Trewsday the fourteenth of Astron. I will mark the route we took once we are home, on old Bilbo's big map if you like, and daresay many things have changed since we were on the road last. You would not recognize some of the places we saw, for Strider and King Éomer's folk have done marvelous things to restore the land. Edoras almost looks cheerful, for such a solemn place. Or, at the very least, it is not so grim.

We thought we would stay at the same house Strider let us use, when he was getting married to Lady Arwen, but we have moved closer to the king's residence and the White Tree. I'm told it's Faramir's doing, although what the Lord Steward would have to say about the housing and care of hobbits I'm not sure. Legolas and Gimli are also close to us, but in a separate little house, and we see Strider as often as we may. It seems that these big folk like a party as much as hobbits do, but with more standing about and ceremonial speech-making.

Pippin is thoroughly enjoying himself now that he is once again Prince of the Halflings, dashing about with his Tower Guard livery and delivering important messages from the King to his subjects. Most of them have to do with the wedding, since I am also with him and we see a great deal of the setting-up. Strider says he and Queen Arwen won't be outdone by whatever it is Éomer brings, and I would not let down the Mark by letting such a challenge pass by! You would think that Gondor had never seen a wedding before, the way they go on about it, even if Queen Arwen and Strider were married in Minas Tirith so recently.

I am told that the colors chosen for the ceremony are blue and gold, although I am not sure why those are better than other colors. I would have liked to see the rich green of Rohan more, and it would be a sad, strange affair to see them in the black sable of Gondor. That is a green that also reminds me of the Shire, and the round door of Bag End. I'm not sure if there are any blue flowers that are so regal; I must ask you when we return. Pippin and I, of course, must wear the suits our liege-lords have provided, and are to stand guard while Faramir takes Éowyn's hand in marriage. It is an honor to stand for them, and we shall think of you all the while!

Pippin sends his love, and adds (very insistently) that because he has three elder sisters, he knows better than to ask about colors and such. I am quite positive he is not implying that I am ignorant, though with these error-prone Tooks it is never a sure thing. 

~~ Do you think Frodo knew about this?  ~~

I shall cut this letter short, for I have a very annoying cousin I must teach about the wiser ways of Brandybucks. We will most likely send another letter when we are back on our way, with other messages enclosed for mine and Pippin's parents. If you should like to meet us as we come back, at least ride out to Bree to drink a pint in the Fellowship's honor at the Prancing Pony. Strider has made sure that the road is very safe.

Take care and see you soon,

_ Merry Brandybuck  
Esquire of Rohan  
_ _Lately of Crickhollow and Brandy Hall, Buckland_  



End file.
